


Antriel College AU

by MikesTenderLemonade



Category: Brujita
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, But not really because they're dumb, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Midterms, Pre-Slash, Sharing a Bed, Studying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:42:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26961580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MikesTenderLemonade/pseuds/MikesTenderLemonade
Summary: Antonio's wifi crashes the day before he has a paper due. A lengthy nap is involved.College AU
Relationships: Antonio/Gabriel, Antriel
Kudos: 2





	Antriel College AU

**Author's Note:**

> First Brujita fic y'all. It was bound to happen.
> 
> Warnings: Swearing, I guess? It's mild though.

* * *

It is far, far too early for someone to be knocking at Gabriel’s door. In his opinion. Anyone who rises before noon on a Sunday was a heathen and should be burned at the stake. The quiet rap of knuckles comes again. Gabriel gives himself a moment to breathe in one last peaceful breath, feel the weight of the covers and the warm glow of the sunlit curtains, before whoever is outside gives the door a stubborn thwack, followed by something that sounds like a kick. He slumps out of bed, drags his dressing gown off the back of his chair, and staggers across the room to the narrow door.

Antonio stands in the hall, unbearably awake, with a shopping bag in one hand and a paper tray of coffee in the other. A bulging backpack is slung across his shoulder. Gabriel eyes him blearily.

“I brought you some Red Bull,” says Antonio, holding out the bag.

There are at least seven cans of the stuff, and Gabriel is starting to feel distinctly wrong-footed.

Antonio has… strong feelings about energy drinks. Namely that they are horrible in every single way and whoever actually enjoys them must be mad.

“What do you want?”

He holds the plastic bag like a very lumpy puppy, ignoring the handles.

“My WiFi crashed,” says Antonio.

He casually shoulders his way into Gabriel’s room, toeing aside a stray pile of laundry.

“Shit,” says Gabriel.

“Yeah,” says Antonio.

“Right before midterm week?”

“Yeah.”

“Shit.”

“Oh, shut up. Can I please use your WiFi? I have a paper due.”

Gabriel shrugs.

“Fine,” he says. Then, “Do you want the bed or the desk?”

 _Please say the desk_ , he thinks. He only ever manages to properly study on his bed. The desk is more of a glorified shelving unit where he dumps everything on his way in the door. He hasn’t actually sat in the chair for months. Antonio looks at the miniature wasteland with a critical eye.

“The bed,” he says.

Gabriel nods as if that was what he had been hoping for and sweeps the pamphlets and scarves and empty boxes of matches off his desk.

“Were you sleeping? The day before we have ten thousand things due?”

“I was going to do them later.”

“I forgot you don’t have a real sleep schedule.”

“I prefer fainting randomly onto couches.”

He routes his laptop out from under the bed and strings the cable across the room as Antonio settles himself on the bed.

His bed.

Antonio is punching his pillows into shape and smoothing his covers and spreading textbooks out on his comforter, and Gabriel has to look away. It is painfully intimate.

Gabriel decides not to get dressed. Now that he's up, he's getting anxious about his own paper that is due, and finding actual pants would eat up too much time. Anyways, Antonio has seen him in less than pyjamas. They practically grew up together, after all.

Gabriel stares blankly at his cursor, willing it to do something without his saying so. He is really too stupid for a paper.

 _The Tobin Tax_ , he writes.

“That’s a title."

Antonio laughs behind him and he grins. He likes making him laugh. He sneaks a look at him, pale and drawn and frustrated. He is, unfairly, still alarmingly pretty.

_A Tobin tax is a tax on all spot conversions from_

Gabriel had decided a while ago that Antonio’s looks surpass cute, handsome and hot by miles. His face is finely wrought, almost delicate, and his movements are downright graceful. It's horrible. Someone upstairs must have it out for him.

He opens his first Red Bull, takes a sip, and erases his one line of writing. Headphones are fished out from somewhere inside his bag. He starts typing again, tentatively, stopping every now and again to rifle through his notes.

Hours pass in companionable silence, the quiet clicking of keys and the turning of pages the only sounds to be heard. Each is absorbed with his work, comfortably ignoring the other.

Twelve thousand some-odd words and five Red Bulls later, Gabriel is done. It's by no means the best paper he has ever written, but considering he had forgotten it was supposed to exist by the next morning, he figures he hasn’t done too badly. He stretches his arms back over his head, turning to catch sight of Antonio. He is lying back, his laptop closed on his stomach, grinning lazily at Gabriel.

“Hey,” he says. “Done?”

“Done.”

There is some strange sort of adrenaline rushing through him at the thought of his finished paper. Maybe he should climb a mountain. Or go to a party. He could probably deal with a party right now, emotionally. Antonio rolls to face him, his hair crushing against his cheek.

“Do you want to order some Indian? I’ll pay.”

“Sounds brilliant.”

Everything feels bright and sharp. Like champagne.

“Christ, Gabriel, you’re shaking.”

“I’ve had so many Red Bulls.”

He feels as if he's about to combust and bring the world down in flames with him. It's great. Life is great. His paper is great.

“I’m great.”

Antonio shakes his head in a way that could only really be described as fond and orders Gabriel to drink some water for Christ’s sake.

The food comes within ten minutes, which is hardly surprising considering it's just across the street. Gabriel adamantly refuses to set buttocks in that desk chair again, so they eat curled up on his bed, watching some Colombian period drama on Antonio’s laptop.

“I should be studying for French,” Gabriel says sometime during the third episode.

The Red Bull has worn off some, and he's starting to feel tired. It can't past eleven.

“You don’t need to study. You are French.”

Gabriel laughs.

“And you’re Philosophy,” he says.

Antonio's brilliant at Philosophy. He's brilliant.

“The nationality, you idiot, not the subject.”

“I’m only half French. French-Canadian at that. The actual French hate me.”

“Don’t study,” says Antonio softly. “Not just yet.”

Gabriel murmurs something agreeable, curling back up against Antonio. He watches the screen drowsily, letting Antonio’s comments wash over him. _This is nice_ , he thinls. _This should happen more often. I wish-_

He doesn't let himself finish that thought. Instead, he presses his face deeper into Antonio’s soft shirt, breathing him in.

Gabriel wakes slowly. Minutes trickled by in a pleasant stream of sun and blankets. He isn’t surprised to find Antonio still there beside him, hands pillowed and face soft. He must have changed during the night because he's wearing one of Gabriel’s sweaters. It is too easy, for a moment, to imagine every morning like this. Waking up slotted together like a two-piece jigsaw, head tucked under chin and fingers tangled. Waking up with Antonio’s name still on his tongue, seeing that sleepy smile and knowing it’s just for him.

He wakes Antonio, and they stumble around for a few minutes trying to fix breakfast with whatever is in Gabriel's dorm room. _They'll need their strength today_ , he thinks morosely. On this side of a decent night's sleep, it seems inevitable that he'll fail at least two exams. The paper does not bear thinking. 

“We should do this again,” Antonio says, getting ready to leave. “Without the studying.”

Gabriel passes him his coat from where it lies crumpled on the ground.

“Take-out and Netflix? That sounds suspiciously like an eight-year-old sleepover.”

“Or a date.”

“Yeah, or a --”

Gabriel freezes as his brain scrambled to piece things together. Antonio’s face is annoyingly inscrutable as he buttons his coat.

“Yes, well,” says Gabriel. “Studying was… productive. I hope you get a good mark on your paper.”

“You too,” Antonio laughs. “I love you, but you're an idiot."

"I love you too." Then, after a brief moment of panic, "Bye now."

Antonio sighs, smiling.

"Bye."


End file.
